A Painful Way To Say I Love You
by rhymeswithmonth
Summary: Oftentimes we say goodbye to the person we love without wanting to. Though that doesn't mean that we've stopped loving them or we've stopped caring. Sometimes goodbye is a painful way to say I love you.
1. Absence

"Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair."

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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The Chief Royal Scribe Gen is commanded by

The Serene Princess Ming Zhu

To invite

The Honorable Hua Mulan

To the royal union between

His Highness, Seventh Prince Tuo Ba Hong

With

The Serene Princess Ming Zhu.

Detong Palace

On the day of August 24th

In the year 421

It was like the reopening of a barley-healed battle wound. But this small scroll, handed to her by one of the Emperor's personal messengers did more damage in one instant than thousands of enemy Rouran spears had inflicted on her in twelve long years at war.

At the bottom of the page was penned a personal note: _General, I noticed that your name was not on the guest list. This confused be greatly because of the vital role you played in making this arrangement possible. Please grace us with your presence, I look forward to seeing you again._

_ Mingzhu _

She stood alone in the courtyard, her slight figure shivering in the early-spring breeze. Hesitantly, she lifted a finger to trace the Princess's signature. She smiled despite her pain at the shaky characters. _Mingzhu_; Bright Pearl. A beautiful name for the beautiful northern princess who dressed exclusively in shades of white and silver. The signature was crooked, traced by a hand not used to forming the name, for the Emperor had dubbed her true name, her very Rouran name Sarantsatsral, as too barbaric for court. Mingzhu was a good, noble Chinese name fit for a soon to be Chinese Princess.

She walked slowly across the empty yard, passed the stand of Tallow trees where she'd said goodbye to him just weeks ago, and climbed the steps into the house she shared with her father. She could hear him in his room, snoring softly already even though the sun was barley below the horizon. She paused at his door, eyes scanning over his familiar; deeply lined face and unbound white hair and her aching heart broke into even smaller pieces. She'd known, when she was journeying home, that he'd look older. Twelve years was a very long time to be away and he hadn't been a young man even before. But the change had still shocked her. Every day he seemed weaker, everyday the coughing fits took longer to subside.

The scroll in her hand was small indeed, with only fifteen short lines on text. But the paper was heavy, weighing down on her like nothing else ever had. She stood clutching it in the hall outside her ailing father's room for a long time, her mind flying far away, over the plains of Xinjiang. Her heart soared there above the bodies of her men. Together on the ground were two figures, together amongst the dead and dying they were frozen in a tableau, a precarious moment that was forever preserved there in her lonely heart. The soldier standing in general's armor had an expression of such numbness, but the eyes that shone from under the tasseled helmet held so much raw emotion, of joy of love and exhausted relief.

Mulan allowed herself to dwell in the past for a moment before locking the emotions back inside and returning to reality. She strode purposely across the floor to the lamp that burned on the table in the centre of the room. Determinedly she lifted the scroll and held it over the flickering flame, steeling herself to burn to thing. But she froze, knelt with her hair falling in a curtain around her pale face. Less sure now. She stood and walked slowly to her own bedroom. Opening the bottom drawer of the dresser she lifted the extra bedding and slipped the letter underneath and slid the drawer shut.

Leaning back on her heels she let out a long breath and tucked her hair behind her ears. After a minute, she got back up and tiptoed into her father's room and sat down next to his slumbering form. His eyes opened at the dip of the mattress. "Sorry Fa." She whispered sadly, "I didn't mean to wake you."

His dark grey eyes, filmed over slightly with the first onsets of blindness were warm as he beheld his daughter. "Do not apologize daughter." He croaked sleepily, "It is always a pleasure to wake to your beautiful face."

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his wrinkled forehead. "Get some rest." She said fondly, brushing the hair away from his beloved face. I'll still be here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere.

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Short and sweet. Probably will continue, if I can find time (not to mention inspiration).

As it isn't obvious quite yet, this is not based on the Disney version of Mulan. I just finished watching the 2009 live-action film and so this story is based on that. It's a tragic story that doesn't have the happy ending that the cartoon does. In this one, her love interest and fellow general is betrothed to someone else. It is such a sad story, with brutal raw battle scenes. I highly recommend watching it.


	2. Music

"After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."

I actually really enjoyed writing this character, way more than I thought I would. Originally this chapter was going to start from Wude's POV, then switch over to Wentai's , but I was having so much fun that I stuck to him. So only a tiny glimpse of Wentai this time. The next chapter (If I write one) will likely be from him. If you want to hear how Wude sings, look up the singer Vitas, who plays him. I was listening to his music while I wrote this to get in the mood, and he's a very talented man (pretty too!) http:/ www. youtube . com/watch? v=l2gbOEw-CN8DO IT . Oh and here's a link to the English-subbed version of the movie, if anyone wants to GO WATCH IT NOW! http:/ www. youtube. com/watch? v=DsJBeJz41UE (w/out spaces of course)

Disclaimer: I don't own Mulan, or any of the quotes for that matter.

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High musical notes drifted hauntingly across the humid air of the courtyard. There were no lyrics, there didn't need to be for the emotion in the voice alone conveyed exactly what the singer wanted to without even forming an intelligible language.

The singer himself drifted slowly along the smooth hardwood floors with his eyes closed, long lashed resting on his pale cheeks. He had one arm outstretched from his body to rest lightly against the red marble columns he passed, using the to guide his way blindly around the edge of the yard. The pale appendage was engulfed, hidden by the draping sleeve of his silk robe. Just his pale tapered fingers were visible, peeking out from the silver-and-blue embroidery that formed a thick border of twisting vines on the ivory-coloured fabric.

Thin pink lips parted and his voice spilled out in that clear, fluting melody that had for the past two months enchanted the court of nobles, here at Detong Palace. They absolutely adored the new addition to the serving staff and took every chance they got to gush about his voice. "Truly a gift from heaven." They exclaimed after he entertained at one of the Emperor's feasts, "Handed down to the earth by angels." They showered him with generous gifts, pleas to sing for them-at their banquets.

But he'd seen, behind their smiling faces, the truth in their eyes. He'd seen the way their gazes followed him in the crowded rooms. "They offer to buy you," his Lady Sarantsatsral had informed him once in the peace of their private chambers "they do not listen when I say that you are not mine to sell."

He'd smiled softly and turned away so that she didn't see the sadness in his eyes. No, she didn't own him, not any more. As they'd prepared for the journey south to Detong, she'd pulled him away from the others and told him that he was free.

He halted his pacing and leaned against the nearest pillar, resting his cheek against its smooth surface. His heavily lidded eyes slid open halfway and his song faded on his tongue. He sighed and allowed his body to sag wearily against the pole as he remembered that last morning in the desert, standing alone with his dead master's daughter.

"_My father and brother are dead." She'd stated flatly, looking out over the dry plains at the rising sun, "And I am leaving for the capitol city in moments to become a Princess of China." The day's first rays of light had breached the distant mountains just then, and illuminated Sarantsatsral's soft curving features. He hadn't replied, instead giving her time to voice her thoughts in their entirety. _

"_Wude," She'd said softly, turning to face him, "You've been with the tribe for over ten years. You told father that the slavers had you for three. And now I am to be married. You haven't been home for long and I'm going to take you even further away from the land you were born in." Her jutted out with her full bottom lip sucked in. The expression was familiar to him, as he'd seen it countless times. When she didn't want to do her chores, or didn't like the dinner that was placed in front of her. It was the look she got when she was forced to do something she deemed unpleasant. "So I think you shouldn't come with us." she stated, arms coming up to pull her cloak tighter around her shoulders._

_He'd stayed silent, staring at the shifting sand beneath his feet and willed the world away. He could feel her eyes on his face expectantly, waiting for him to be happy, or relieved, and perhaps to thank her or break down crying. She was doing him a favour; more than that, she was giving him a gift unlike any other. Rouran slaves were never set free. They were traded, or given as gifts, killed or in the rarest or circumstances, adopted into the clan. But to release a slave, just like that, was simply never done. It was a complete waste of the tribe's funds. Slaves were an investment, and not a cheap one. _

_He knew he should be grateful, that he should give her the tearful, overjoyed gratitude that she deserved. He'd always known what reactions to give to those around him; it was how he'd survived as long as he had. As a teenager being passed from tent to tent of nomadic warlords, his intuition had been the only thing that kept him alive. But standing there, with his feet sunk into the desert as the land turned orange, he'd been unable to muster the appropriate appreciation towards her words. _

"_Wude?" She'd inquired, her sweet voice was quizzical. "Wude, what's the matter? Are you not pleased?"_

_He hated so much to disappoint her. But, "If you don't mind my lady," he whispered hoarsely, "I think I'll come with you." _

"_Wude! Are you sure?"_

"_Yes my lady." _

It wasn't as if he didn't miss his home. The distant memories of the little village in Siberia where he'd spent his childhood still haunted his mind, and his music, every minute of every day. But he'd spent so any years traveling the wilderness with various nomadic groups, being used however his masters saw fit, that he no longer felt like the same person he'd been the day he was taken. The chubby thirteen year-old who'd been snatched up while his uncle's back was turned while tending the family's Yak heard was long gone. The silk-draped figure held no inch of the fat of a well-fed boyhood on his long limbs. The raised scars that criss-crossed the pale skin of his back and thighs were echoed on his soul. His own family would not even recognize him and that thought inspired a deep fear. Better that they think him dead.

He would stay with her, no matter how much it hurt him. His master's last remaining daughter, the companion of his teen years. He'd watched Sarantsatsral grow into a beautiful and selfless woman. He followed her to Detong not as her slave, but as her loyal servant. And although the men in the court of the Emperor looked at him in the same ways those warlords of the desert had, he was out of reach, the soon-to-be Princess's precious angel singer.

A group of his fellow servants breezed by him in a rush, their arms overflowing with pure-white lilies. The plainly dressed figures chatted excitedly, but fell silent as they drew level with the crimson pillar where he stood. He offered them a gentle smile, but it was not returned as they hurried passed. Sadly, he watched their retreating forms disappear around the bend, leaving behind a few stray petals. He pushed his sleeve up to his elbow- over the scarred forearm- to keep in off the ground and bent to pluck one off the ground. He rubbed the thing between his thumb and fingers absently, the pads coming away slightly dusted.

The flowers were destined for the grand-hall; that was where the preparations for the wedding were just wrapping up. Tomorrow the ceremony would be held there, and his mistress would finally attain the goal she'd been striving for since she'd turned fifteen. She'd finally be in a position to set in motion all of her brilliant ideas, she'd finally be a Princess of China.

Again, the sound of footsteps reached his ears, and he stepped aside and inclined his head respectfully to let whomever it was pass. But the person hesitated, and he looked up into the face the General Prince. Dressed in a simple shirt and pants with practical boots and cloak and his black hair pulled into a tight bun without adornment, Wude could tell that the other man had been hunting.

He bowed again, and the prince continued on his way. His walk was slow but silent, his back straight as befit a son of the Emperor. But Wude had seen- in the moments when he thought nobody was watching- the Prince's shoulder slip forward, his head sink and his fine dark brows come together over empty eyes.

His hand rolled into a tight fist and he felt his lips tremble with song. His teeth sunk into the flesh to bottle in the notes striving to escape. Wude's foreign eyes saw so much in this crimson-stained palace, for there was just as much misery in the red-marble halls as he'd seen in the tents in the far-off desert. The grasping noblemen cooed and twittered endlessly over the songs that he sang. They had no idea.

As a little boy in Siberia he'd sung in the cramped family homestead by the fire. He'd sung of simple joys and rural pleasures of food, shelter and company. In the slave pits of the deserts his songs had twisted and morphed to tell of the fear and loathing in his broken heart. When he'd been gifted to the Rouran Dayan, he sang of re-discovered kinship, of fresh hope and a new family. At the palace in Detong, Wude sang of the misery and hopelessness he saw reflected in every face that roamed the cold corridors. So Wude clenched his teeth and his lips bled, but it was better that way.


	3. Despair

"Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time."

I'd like to thank my lone reviewer Starzinmieyez for the lovely reviews! Hope everyone enjoys!

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Arrow after arrow hit the pot marked red target, each hitting the stretched hide within a few inches.

In one fluid motion, Wentai loosed an arrow, threw back his arm and had grasped another from the sheath at his shoulder before the first had cleared the distance. _Thwak! _Each solid confirmation of contact was deeply gratifying in a way only retired soldiers could understand. Eyes narrowed and slid back in his head when his fingers came together again on empty air; his sheath was empty again.

A wave of irrational anger swept through his taught body, and he grasped the leather strap that crossed his chest, ripping it over his head and flinging it forward with all of his might. The ornate holder hit the ground halfway across the clearing, bounced once and rolled to a slow stop. Wentai watched its path numbly with his rage draining away, just as quickly as it had come. He lifted a booted foot and forced himself to walk steadily forward. Bend. Pick it up. Brush the dirt of the skillfully inlaid gold and gems. He continued on until he drew level with the ancient target.

It had been here for many years, over a century in all likelihood. The vast stretch of cleared forest was a long-abandoned training ground for his honorable great-great-grandfather's personal division of the army. His ancestor had dreamed fantastical dreams of expanding the Wei rule outward to engulf the country and reach the four great seas, becoming the most powerful nation on the planet. But although the man had had the ambition, his knowledge of military operations had been minimal at best, abysmal at worst. He'd forced recruitment on the people of his kingdom with no regard of age or station. Acres of forest- like this one- had been cleared in a rush in order to make space to accommodate the thousands of trainee soldiers, only to see them slaughtered in the distant plains of their enemies. Half of the population lost; it had taken decades of cover-up to make the people forget.

He dropped to one knee in front of the target and took hold of a protruding arrow shaft. Tug. Snap, the arrowhead was buried deeper into the rotten wood than he'd expected, and the arrow broke off in his hand. He froze, as he always did when he was overtaken with a memory of the twelve years he'd spent fighting the Rouran.

_He threw the splintered arrow to the side and cradled her limp body to his chest. She may be small, but she wore her heavy general armor, which added an extra 50 pounds. Wentai, weak from a day of battle and hours struggling in a sandstorm, strained to support her. After a moment though, she regained consciousness enough to bring her feet back under her and took some of the weight off his battered body. Her hand gripped his neck tightly and she brought her face close to his, her raged breath fanned his face. Wide with something frighteningly close to madness, her eyes bulged at him, boring into him. "I knew." She hissed through clenched teeth, "I knew you didn't die." Her nails bit the sensitive skin of his spine painfully, and he twisted his head to shake her grip. Her eyes rolled back again, threatening to slip away from him. "Hold on!" He gasped, heaving her fully into his arms and staggering, knees nearly buckling. His breastplate was slick with her blood. "Hold on Mulan!"_

Commanding his body to move, Wentai gathered the rest of his arrows and stashed them away in the quiver. Striding quickly over the dirt, trampled down to the hardness of rock from thousands of men and horses, back to where he'd harnessed his horse, Fire Dancer. He stroked the bay's cheek absently, lips quirking despite himself as the young stallion nipped at his fingers in search of food. Wentai couldn't help but feel slightly cheered up, he loved horses and spending time with them always made him feel better. He held Fire Dancer's heavy head in both hands and looked fondly into the glossy black eyes. He didn't have any treats on him, but he remembered the special spot behind the ear that his old horse, Moon Chaser had loved when he scratched. He tried it out, but Fire Dancer snorted and dropped his head in disinterest, choosing instead to pick at the sparse grass by his feet.

Wentai sighed sadly, and patted the stallion's flank as he put his booted foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up onto his back. Moon Chaser was long gone, killed years ago in the midst of battle as befit a veteran warhorse. Fire Dancer had been a gift from his father, given upon his return home. Barley two years old, he was a fine specimen, intelligent and quick, with a gleaming red coat and wiry muscles. But Wentai still missed his old horse. He'd already been old when he'd come into Wentai's possession; his old master was one of his father's Generals and closest advisors who'd been speared off Moon Chaser's back in a charge against the Rouran. As the Emperor's son, when he turned fifteen he'd had the choice of any horse in the royal herd, even if it already belonged to somebody. But Moon Chaser's quiet steadiness had caught Wentai's eye, and he hadn't regretted it once.

They'd been through so much together, that horse and him. Whenever the stress of court life overwhelmed him, the young prince would roll up the sleeves of his silk robe and escape to the stables to spend hours mucking about in the hay. When, at eighteen he'd had enough and decided to join the Imperial Army, Moon Chaser had been by his side every terrifying moment. It had been while lounging in his stall that Wentai first heard the soft, sad voice of the soldier who would become the most important companion of his life, and it was on that horses back that he'd climbed his way up the ranks of the army and gained the honor and prestige he'd needed to feel justified in his position in life.

_Moon Chaser's strong body rippled under him as they galloped through the golden twilight air. The buzz of the summer-evening's last cicadas was drowned out by the thunder of the horse's hooves pounding the ground as rider and beast raced forward, eyes fixed straight ahead. Wentai leaned over his steed's sweat-streaked neck and relished the feeling of the warm air teasing the loose strands of hair that had come loose from his bun. The breeze worked its way into his loose shirt-for once free from the hold of the cumbersome armor that usually hindered his riding._

_Suddenly, a cloud of dust rained down on him, spooking his horse briefly before continuing at the same steady pace. Wentai twisted in the saddle to shoot a playful glare backwards before digging his heels into Moon Dancer's side and the horse sprang forward into an all out gallop. Over the rushing wind, he heard a delighted whoop from behind him._

_As the bloated orange sun sank lower and lower, they thundered into the low-lying basin that held the crystal-clear pool he'd discovered earlier that day while on patrol. Tugging the reigns up and to the side, he wheel Moon Chaser around and to a halt, sending sand spraying in all directions. A split second later Black Wind skidded up beside them, Mulan's small form perched nimbly on his back. Her horse had barely come to a complete stop before she leaped off and landed with a rattle of metal on the ground and started stripping off her armor._

_Suddenly seeming to find the sunset very interesting, Wentai turned away. She really ought to give him warning before she started shedding clothing, he mused, groping blindly for Black Wind's harness. "I'm going to climb this hill," he called to her as he tied their horses' reigns together securely, "To keep watch."_

_"Don't you want a bath?" She yelled back, and the sound of splashing water announced that she'd entered the pool._

_"I'll come back tomorrow with a group of men, heavens know that they could all use a bath. You just get yourself clean while it's still light enough out to see."_

_"Suit yourself." She hummed happily, and Wentai gave into the temptation to steal a glance in her direction. She was reclined slightly in the warm water, eyes closed in bliss. Her silky black hair streamed wetly down her back and over her shoulders, leaving the smooth skin of her shoulders bare. His eyes briefly traced the slope of her neck, down her chest, down to the point that it started to swell outwards into small breasts, half hidden from his eyes by the water._

_Shaking himself, Wentai slid from his horse, leaving him to forage around with Black Wind for shrubs, and hiked up the far slope. Finally reaching the top, he wiped his brow and plopped down on a rock. It was summer, and in the last few moths, the battalion had traveled farther south than he could ever remember going. It was a nice break from the icy tundra of the far north, but it defiantly made physical exertion at least twice as draining. He tugged hotly at his collar._

_The glowing rim of the sun was touching the horizon now; it would be dark soon and the temperature would drop dramatically. He'd wanted to be back at base camp but he didn't quite have the heart to pull Mulan away from her miniature heaven yet. She may not have been your average young woman, but the newly promoted General still wasn't quite comfortable with the habits of the men. Lately, she'd been complaining about the infrequency of bathing opportunities every time the two of them were alone, and so when he and his patrol had stumbled across this, he'd been eager to show her._

_But it really was getting late, he decided with a sigh, watching the first of the stars emerge above. He got to his feet slowly and stepped down onto the shadowy hillside. It was getting darker and darker and the terrain was unfamiliar, so he took his time and picked his way carefully downwards._

_The horses hadn't moved, and he greeted them fondly. Moon Chaser nickered at his approach, resting his head against Wentai's shoulder. He smiled and scratched behind his ear, and was rewarded with a grateful nuzzle. Black Wind, never one to be ignored, snorted for attention and butted his chest. Wentai grinned and gave the smaller horse a scratch as well._

_"Wentai!" Mulan's voice echoed of the water, "Wentai is that you? Is it time to go?" This was preceded by a lot of splashing._

_"Yeah," he replied, pushing Black Wind away and reaching into Moon Chaser's saddlebag, "I have a blanket for you, I'll throw it over."_

_"No don't just bring it. I'm under water."_

_He sighed and folded the wool blanket over his arm. She really had no idea how she tried his restraint. Really, if he were any of the others he'd have long ago had his way with her. Hell, it wasn't as if he'd never had the thoughts, because he sure had. He was a healthy young man who'd been away from home and serving in the military for seven years. Sure the company had stopped in small villages to restock and …ehem… refresh themselves. But this bathing in the moonlight thing, this was trying even his princely patience._

_Mulan's armor and clothing was scattered at the edge of the water, so he quickly folded them into a pile, grabbed her boots from a bush a ways away and left the blanket beside them._

_"Turn around!" Mulan yelled, and he smiled wryly but complied. Water sloshed over the sand behind him as she climbed out of the pool. Rustling fabric, then-_

_"Eeep!"_

_"What happened?" He asked, not sure whether her uncharacteristic squeal was uncharacteristic enough to warrant turning around for._

_"Moon Chaser don't!" She giggled, and he had to look. He grinned. His horse was snuffling at her neck, and she was feebly trying to fend him off while at the same time preventing the blanket from slipping down and leaving her nudity uncovered. The horse whinnied, and managed to grab a corner in his teeth. She yelped, less amused now. Wentai took pity and whistled between his teeth. The horse's ears pricked and he released Mulan to trot to his master's side. At the sight of her flustered face, he sent a cheeky grin in her direction._

_"Wentai!" She yelled, "turn around!" her boot sailed through the air and hit him in the head._

Fire Dancer stomped his hoof impatiently, bringing Wentai back to the present. He jumped in surprise, almost sliding out of the saddle. He was immediately angry with himself, and he jerked the reigns, probably more sharply than necessary, and spurred Fire Dancer forward. As they cantered briskly through the forest he mentally chastised himself. He needed to stop having these lapses! He was getting married tomorrow for the sake of all that is holey! The past is the past, and with this wedding he was setting out into a whole new future of peace and prosperity for the entire country.

The palace came into view through the trees, and he slowed Fire Dancer to a walk and did the mental check that he'd perfected over the past few months. Straight posture, squared shoulders, head tilted with his chin level, expression schooled into a blank mask of indifferent benevolence that every member of the royal family was taught from a very young age.

He nodded to himself, feeling the relief that came with a familiar routine steady his resolve. He patted Fire Dancer's neck, as if reassuring the horse, and continued on, shaking the glowing memories of the slender, moonlit figure in the desert years ago from his mind as he rode toward the high marble walls of the palace where his bride to be waited.


	4. Lonely

Just to clearify, since I know that at least a couple of you haven't seen the movie, Wentai and Prince Tuo Ba Hong are the same person. It never stated exactly why he went by a different name while in the army, but after some research I think it could be that Wentai is his style name, given to men when they come of age because the man's true name is a private thing from only close relatives to use. But it also could have just been a nickname he used to be inconspicuous as a prince among his people.

Thanks again for the reviews! They truly do keep me inspired.

"Aim for the top. There is plenty of room there. There are so few at the top it is almost lonely."

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She gazed at the image in the mirror with critical eyes, examining every inch of her reflection. Noticing a crooked string of beads, she deftly straightened it. Everything had to be absolutely perfect today, on the day that her dream was finally going to come true.

Up until this moment, she hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge that it was finally happening for fear that something would go wrong, and if that happened she thought she'd die of the disappointment. But now, standing on the ornate footstool in the centre of her dressing room with the attendants putting the finishing touches on her wedding regalia, she allowed herself to beam giddily at the mirror. It was finally happening, she was finally marrying a Prince of Wei.

In her dreams, it had always been the emperor's eldest son who stood next to her on the dais, and she'd ruled from that day on as the Queen of China. But when she'd met Prince Hong she'd discovered that not only was the heir twenty years older that her, but he already had two wives, a dozen mistresses and at least twice as many children. Now, if she'd pushed for it, she could have become Honorable First Son's third wife, but that just wouldn't due. As a third wife, she'd simply fade into the background, just one of the future Emperor's harem fit only to bare children who would call another woman mother until he lost interest in her. She would not settle for that. She would be the only woman in her husband's life of any importance, that she would demand.

Unfortunatly, every one of the Emperor's sons who were of marriageable age were already married or betrothed. With the exception of the one who'd led the attacks against her people for the past decade; the nobleman's daughter whom had been engaged to Prince Hong since childhood had been married off to another man while he was at war.

She waved the servant women away; they bowed lowly and exited silently. When the sound of their footsteps faded away, Wude stepped forward from where he'd standing against the wall, she held out her hand as he approached her. Drawing level, he gently helped her down off the stool without disturbing her carefully arranged outfit. When her slipper-clad feet were safely on the tile floor with the trailing robes settled around her, he made to move away, but she clutched his hands tighter to keep him beside her.

"Wude," she said softly, looking up into his delicate features, "Are you going to sing for me today?"

Her hands were tiny in his and he couldn't manage to meet her eyes. He takes a long time to answer, like he always does, searching for the right words to string together his answer. "Lady," he began hesitantly, "You want…me to sing? At the wedding?"

"Yes, it would please me very much if you would." She scrutinized his face looking for clues of what he was thinking about, "You haven't sung for me in a very long time, I miss it." She sighed with exaggerated sadness to enforce her point.

She could see him struggle to come to terms with this. He always did hate to see her miserable. It made her feel bad to manipulate him in this way, when she could tell that he didn't want to sing, but she needed his voice today.

"I'm nervous Wude," She continued, letting him have his hands back, "I've been waiting so long for this, and now it's really happening. I should be happy…I _am _happy…but I need you to be here for me." The tremor in her voice was genuine, as were her words, "If you sing today, I'll feel better, braver. I'll feel more at home." She twisted her hands anxiously, dipping her head and waited for his reply.

"I…I will sing." He said after a minute. She lifted her gaze and graced him with a smile, which she saw made his morose eyes light up a little.

"Wonderful!" She murmured, looking back into the mirror. "Oh, something's missing."

Wude hovered briefly before moving to the massive closet that took up an entire wall of the room. He rifled through the endless silk and satin, toward the dark, farthest corner. He withdrew from a shelf there a fine hairpiece made of carved elk bone and fringed with Snowy Owl feathers. She smiled delightedly at the sight and reached to take it from him. It had been a gift from her father for her sixteenth birthday. She traced the intricate details fondly. "Perfect," She decided, "will you put it in for me?"

She stood still as Wude fixed the pin into place, making sure the feathers lay in a flattering position. She smiled at him gratefully and took his arm as they walked out the door.

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The square in front of the Palace was packed with people so thickly that not a single patch of pavement was visible. She'd never seen so many in one place before, and these were just the lucky members of the nobility who'd been deemed for one reason or another, good enough to be invited to a royal wedding.

Up on the dais, the Emperor was seated comfortably in his gilded gold throne, the Honorable Consort, Ning Rou by his side. Seated around him were his 29 children and their husbands and first wives and children, and the rest of his very large family. Grouped at the head of the crowd were the highest noble families, the noblest of the noble. Stretching back from there were the less noble ones, in order of importance, with those in the lowest standing at the very back. There were nearly a hundred all together in the yard alone, and thousands of citizens had converged outside the gates, flooding the city streets in order to be close to this wonderful ceremony.

Sarantsatsral craned her neck minutely, straining to make sense of the chaotic order in which the guests were arranged. The decorated military members were over on the right near the front (she only knew that because they all were in full dress uniform) so that's where Mulan would be. Unless she came simply as an honored guest of the family, then she'd be front and centre.

But she couldn't manage to see her in either group. Sarantsatsral felt her heart sink with disappointment. She'd been looking forward to seeming the other woman again, as she greatly admired her for all that she'd done in her life. Perhaps she was just lost among the other generals, she decided, all of them wearing the same armor, and she being so much shorter than any of them…

"Who're you looking for?" She turned to look at Prince Hong, who looked even more handsome than usual in his crimson marriage robes.

"General Hua," she replied. Maybe he knew where she'd been placed, "I don't see her with the other generals, is she somewhere else?" She looked at him imploringly.

The transition on his face was visible, as something unrecognizable slide across his features. His eyes, which had previously been relaxed, staring out over the crowd, widened and darted away, becoming hard and dark. His jaw tightened and she could see the tendons of his slim neck tense. Confused, she moved closer, but he flinched away. "She won't be coming." He said in a quiet, even voice.

"How do you know? Have you heard from her?"

"No, she doesn't write to me. She wasn't on the guest list."

"Yes I noticed." She took her eyes off his face to watch the path of a pair of imperial guards pace along the far wall. "So I had an invitation sent. I really can't imagine the scribes could have forgotten her."

"Well, she won't be coming."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"She…it's her father," He nodded to himself, "He's ill. He's too weak to travel and she refuses to leave him alone. You understand I'm sure."

"Couldn't she have just asked a neighbour to stay?" She pushed.

"No!" he snapped. She blinked at the harshness of his tone. The prince was a gentle man, and had always been perfectly polite when talking to her. He seemed to remember herself a moment later, and smiled softly, "She wouldn't do that, that's not how she is. She'd feel like she needs to be there herself, especially after being gone for so long."

She sighed and nodded. "I suppose." She whispered.

"Hey." She felt his hand, warm and heavy on her shoulder. She looked up and met his eyes, warm again and smiling. Her lips twitched upward as well. Hand and hand they turned to face the crowd of adoring citizens as the priests declared them united under heaven, and their kingdoms joined in alliance forevermore. Thousands of people cheered in deafening support of their new princess as brilliant fireworks exploded in the sky above.

Behind them, standing surrounded by thousands of pure white lilies stood a tall willowy figure. Wude looked at the pair waving over the square. Agonizingly, he opened his mouth, sucked in his breath and began to sing. He sang in the language of his people, the smooth words rolling richly off his tongue, and thousands stilled and listened as he sang a song in a language they couldn't comprehend, in such a way that every one of them could understand.

"_The hall becomes empty, making the soul also become empty for a moment._

_I need to say so much, but the minutes hurry inexorably._

_And I'm naively sending on the words for the farewell dance _

_In hope to linger in your memory just for several days._

_I lit the fire at the edge of insomnia not in vain._

_I tried to feel your pain and make you feel mine._

_This evening I tried to share my dream with you._

_But I don't demand and don't ask you: "Please share my success"._

_I've got tired of the weakness of pompous phrases._

_I searched for the words that would unite us._

_Maybe I found such words, maybe I lost them – It's not difficult to guess this from your eyes._

_I filled my songs with my soul as best as I could._

_Maybe they are filled even with naivety but not lie, that's for sure!_

_I lit the fire at the edge of insomnia not in vain._

_I tried to feel your pain and make you feel mine._

_This evening I tried to share my dream with all of you._

_But I don't demand and don't ask you: "Please share my success"._

_Have you again gotten into strange hands?_

_Or are you free, or, more exactly, lonely again?"_

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This chapter sort of felt like a filler chapter. Just needed to get them married and move on. The song at the end is called 'I Didn't Light This Fire in Vain' and Vitas (who plays Wude in the movie) really did write and sing. (so I DON'T OWN IT)

Oh and, I've decided that I'm going to marry Vitas. He is so. Freaking. Pretty. Not so much in the movie, but he IS. And his voice…I can't understand what he's staying but still. The song Opera no.2 is awesome, and the music video is enchanting (he gets naked GO WATCH) I have a Ukrainian friend who speaks Russian as well and she is taking me to go kidnap him some day.


	5. Strength

**Bolded **words are direct quotes from the final scene of the movie. Thanks again for all the reviews! You guys keep me inspired.

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

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ONE YEAR LATER

It should have been raining.

The clouds should have been gathering in a thick, black mass above their heads. There would not be thunder, for that would imply energy, and there certainly wouldn't been any of that. But there would be rain, the first pinpricks nipping at her face, growing steadier and steadier until the drops joined and disguised the tears trickling down her cheeks. The air should have been so cold that it hurt to breath, that the grass under their feet shriveled and refused to grow, that the trees around them should have shaken off their leaves and died.

It should have been an absolutely horrible day.

But the gods seemed intent on spiting her. The sky was brilliant cerulean, with only a couple of clouds, which were fluffy and white. The air was warm and perfectly comfortable- not too hot. The sun shone down on the cluster of villagers, bouncing off the lush grass. Birdsong provided a cheerful backdrop to the beautiful summer day.

It had taken her father a year and a half to succumb to the disease after she returned. It had been eating away at his insides for much longer, the village physician told her after he collapsed one evening during dinner, but he'd fought it so that he could be there to see his daughter come home. Once she was, his health had taken a sharp downward turn.

And now he was dead.

Mulan's entire body was rigid, each muscle clenched in order to control the waves of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Although she wasn't sure what would happen if she did let the feelings take over and run their course. A part of her felt like she would fall to the ground sobbing and screaming and wailing her despair to the blue, blue sky like the women she'd encountered on the trip home from war. The widows, the mothers, the sisters and daughters who had received the worst possible news.

Or perhaps she'd simply roll up into a ball and refuse to get up. To just lie there in the jade green grass, next to the mound of fresh earth that housed her father's body and never have to worry about anything ever again. It was appealing.

There was also the very real possibility that she'd lose it completely. That she'd finally just run away from the village, from the crowd of people she used to know and away from all the reminders of the thing's she'd once thought she'd loved. The trees, all in full bloom, beckoned to her in the warm breeze.

So she clenched her muscles and stood as two of her distant relatives, cousins probably, patted down the grave-dirt.

It wasn't just the loss of her beloved father. That was, of course, the worst, the freshest, the rawest of the wounds that marred her soul. It was the absolutely terrifying realization that she was now completely and utterly alone now that caused her hands to tremble like this. It was the sudden lack of purpose in life that prickled the back of her eyes when she hadn't shed a single tear in the past year and a half. It was the distance the she felt between herself and the many cousins that milled somberly around her, and the isolation towards the childhood friends who had come to mourn alongside her. These were the people she'd grown up with, why didn't she feel comforted by their presence?

It was all dawning on her so suddenly, all at the same time. It was panic that she was feeling as she stood watching them bury the last remaining thing in the world that gave her purpose. He shaking hands drifted to lie against her flat stomach. The reason why the old friends she used to play games with was the children who clung to their skirts, the husbands who held their hands, and the glow of life that shone in their eyes.

She was thirty years old, and she had nothing.

To say that she'd never been the type who dreamed of a domestic life was an understatement. Children had never interested her; babies were smelly and loud and breakable. They left your body weak and took your freedom. Having a child meant no more daylong horseback rides into the forest because if you never came back the thing would die. It meant no more going without eating for most of the week because you weren't hungry because if you didn't cook, the thing would die.

But a child meant that without you, the thing would die. It was a _purpose_. It was something to keep her mind and body occupied with, and something to get her out of bed each morning. It meant that there would be no more nights where she slept in the forest, wet and cold because there was nothing left for her at home. It meant no more passing out from hunger because she forgot to eat.

And of course, the husbands were another matter entirely. She didn't want a husband. She wanted _him_. But since he was miles away and married. She hated that she continued to want him even after all this time, and all that had happened. She had always prided herself to adapt to any given situation, be it a battle, a political setting or something else.

But it had always been different with him.

She looked up into the disgusting, completely wrong blue sky. It should have been raining. It shouldn't be so sunny and warm on the day that she buried her father.

_The sky matched the mood. _

_That was the first thought she had when she opened her eyes. Between the tattered strips of fabric that was serving as their tent, the cloud cover was the same as it had been for the past week. White and high up, no rain fell from the blanket of clouds. But there was no sun either. She almost forgot how it felt to be warm, she decided, or cold for that matter, or anything other than this still lack of anything. Why didn't the damn weather just change? Even a storm would be better. _

_But it matched._

_They were at a standstill with the Rouran, just as the sun was at a standstill with the clouds. They were waiting; she knew it, for them to all die, and they wouldn't have to wait much longer if the commander didn't show up soon. _

_Without moving, she looked around for Wentai. He wasn't within view of her while lying down, so she forced herself to lift her head groggily, scanning the dim tent. He was there, crouched by her feet, slim body bent over on itself and something was in his hand. Something shiny, something thin, something held against his wrist. _

_A knife held against his wrist. _

_She moved faster then than she'd ever moved before. She lunged forward, ignoring the ripping sensation in her shoulder and stomach and barreled into him, arms outstretched. Her momentum carried both of them forward to crash to the ground beside the pile of rags that was serving as her bed. She managed to get her hand between the knife and his arm, and she twisted it upwards over his head. They landed heavily, neither of them made a noise. _

"_Coward!" She screamed at him, ignoring the intense waves of pain that rolled through her body. How dare he? "Traitor!" How could he even think of it? "Bastard!" she moaned in pain, falling limp against him. She could feel her shirt stick to her re-opened wounds. She gasped raggedly for air. _

"_Mulan!" he choked and grabbed at her arms, sitting up and supporting her spasming form. "Be careful you could hurt yourself again!" _

"_Hurt myself? Why you sunnofa-" She lashed out, fist slamming into his face. He reeled back and without his arm holding her up, she fell back against him. He grunted and closed his hand over her own, which still held the knife. "Calm down!" he cried, pushing her back onto her bed. _

"_Calm down? CALM DOWN? How could you Wentai? What are you thinking? This isn't the solution! The commander's men will be here soon; we're going to be okay! You can't do this to me!" _

"_Mulan just stop, you've misunderstood!" _

"_I woke up to the sight of you about to slit your wrist Wentai, what is there to misunderstand?" _

"_Just let me explain! I wasn't going to kill myself, I was just-" He cut off, his eyes widening. "Mulan you're bleeding."_

_Yeah I know, that's what happens when you've been shot with arrows, don't change the topic!" _

"_No!" He pulled her hand toward him, pulling her fingers off the blade of the knife. "Your hand." _

_Sure enough, rivulets of blood ran across her palm and down her wrist. As they watched, a brilliant bead fell onto the dusty floor. "Don't let it go to waste!" He gripped her wrist and pulled her hand to his face. Too shocked to resist, Mulan gaped as Wentai pressed his mouth to her palm and licked the cut. His tongue was warm and rough and worryingly dry. "W-wentai!" She stuttered, weakly tugging at her arm. _

_He raised his head eyes sad. "Mulan, we've been out of water for days. We've killed all the horses, and it doesn't look like it's ever going to rain. We can't waste a single drop of water, and that includes blood." He ripped a strip off his sleeve and wound it tightly around her hand. "You're weak as it is, I can't have you dehydrated too." _

_She let him push her back into the blankets, adrenaline receding and leaving her exhausted and light headed. "I…I thought you were."_

"_I know." He murmured, his warn dark eyes pained. "Don't worry, I'd never do that to you. Now lie still." He took the knife and sliced horizontally into his wrist before she could protest. "Open your mouth."_

_His arm was against her lips now, and her nose filled with the scent of his blood. She began to shake. "B-but Wentai" she gurgled anguished. "I can't-"_

"_You must!" He said harshly. "You have to drink it. If you die it's over, we don't stand a chance. It doesn't matter if I die; I'm just a soldier, one of a million. You're the famous General Hua. You must live."_

_She wanted to protest, to hit him again and yell and tell him that he mattered too. That if he died then she would die anyway, so it didn't matter either way- that his life was just as precious as hers. But she didn't because it was true. He was just a soldier, and she was his general. They had ridden side-by-side once as equals, the two unstoppable generals who defeated thousands of enemy troops with not loss of life to their men. They had been partners. _

_But now he was nobody. General Wentai was dead, his dogtag hung on her belt. This man was just a nameless soldier whose dead wouldn't impact the course of this fight. But it would impact her. In her mind she screamed that she'd give up the lives of every man outside their tent for his. _

_But instead she parted her lips and let his blood run into her mouth. It tasted metallic and sickeningly sweet and coated her tongue with its hot stickiness. But it moistened her dry and cracked throat, returning life to her limbs. _

_She drank until Wentai was pale. Her eyes never left his. She drained away his lifeblood like a leech, and the whole time he smiled at her gently. Then she lay him down in the rags and stared at his white face as he wrapped to cut.. His mouth was split where she'd struck him, and blood pooled between his full lips. Tenderly she ran her finger along his chapped skin. "Don't waste a drop." She whispered and slid the finger in her mouth. _

_He beamed at her then, and closed his eye. "That's the spirit General." He whispered. _

_She lay her head down beside him and traced his face with her eyes. "Don't die." She said. _**For twelve years, every day I woke up on the battlefield, my first thought was of you. **

"_I don't think that's something I can control." He replied sadly. _

"_No, don't die. That's an order from your General. You are just a mere soldier so you cannot disobey." _**Knowing you were there gave me the courage to open my eyes.**

He was still smiling, his hand shaking from fatigue as he raised his hand in an awkward salute. "Sir yes sir!" he chimed, the same way each of her troops did every single day. She stroked his bandaged arm slowly until she fell asleep

Forever after, it will be the same every day

In her empty house, Mulan sat at the table and stared at her folded hands. The silence rang in her ears. She kept imagining that she heard a noise, looking to the door expectantly and listening. But there was never anyone there. She itched to do something productive. At this time of day she should have been preparing her father's dinner, or picking his medicine up from the physician, or even just sitting with him, keeping him company with jokes and stories. To be sitting idle, wasting away daylight seemed a crime.

What was there to do? She could clean the house, but she'd done that that morning. She could make herself a meal but she'd eaten earlier with her cousin's family. Her eyes landed on the dresser through the open door of her bedroom and her vision blurred slightly.

What if she'd gone to the wedding? What would have happened if, a year ago she'd shut away her fear and anguish and traveled to the palace to attend Wentai's marriage ceremony? Would she have seen him happy, with another woman? Would that have allowed her to move on, to accept that his life had split from hers for good? Would she have been able to come back home to the village and lead a normal life, meet a man, start a family? Or would it have done the opposite, to see him with another woman, unhappy and brokenhearted because she had abandoned him to a loveless marriage? Would she have been unable to bear his unhappiness and gone to him, pleading to be made his mistress? Nobody would have thought twice, royalty had affairs all the time.

What if she'd just gone with him when he'd asked her to? Would they have run away, never to be seen again? Leaving everything, her sick father, his duties to the country, their war torn nation in order to be together? Would they have been able to do it? To evade the imperial agents who would have undoubtedly be set after them, to escape China's borders to live in the unmapped wilderness beyond? Would they have been happy with only each other and their guilt? She had no idea, but they could have tried.

And what if she'd taken the job the emperor had offered and become an adviser in his court? Would she have been satisfied with that, with being allowed to see Wentai every day, living and being near him and knowing that he was safe? Would they have eventually settled into those roles, of prince and advisor, or would they have been unable to resist the temptation and the lure of dark corners and private chambers? Would she have been able to accept a secret life of stolen moments, while he lay beside his wife at night? Many women did exactly that.

And how about if she'd just stayed home in the first place, like an obedient daughter should have, would she have found happiness? Would she have escaped the loneliness in the arms of one of the village boys she'd grown up with, perhaps the blacksmiths son who'd always been kind to her? (he was married now, and had a brood of lively children) Would she have received the news of her father's death gracefully, turning to her husbands shoulder to cry, before going on with life? Would she have born him sons and daughters, never meeting the seventh son of the emperor, never knowing what she missed? It's what she should have done.

But she hadn't done any of those things. Instead she'd followed her heart and taken her fathers place in the army, turned down the emperor's offer, refused to elope with Wentai, and stayed home to be at her father's side when he died. Maybe they had been the wrong decisions, maybe this misery was self-inflicted. But there was nothing to be done now, about those lost opportunities.

Forever after, it will be the same every day

This was the life she had chosen. This was the lot she'd been dealt. She stared at the dresser in the dark room, with the scroll inside with the invitation on it. She'd made each of those decisions for a reason that she believed in, and truthfully, she wouldn't go back and change a single one, even if she had the chance. She'd done what no woman had ever done before, found love, lived to see her father again and helped end a centuries old war. She could sit around and mope all she wanted, but nothing was going to change. That is, unless she made it.

Mulan got to her feet and opened the dresser. Retrieving the crumpled paper from under the old linens, she smoothed it our on the table. 'Detong Palace,' she thought absently, 'In the Emperor's city.'


	6. Creation

Thanks to everyone who has and will review!

"A common creation demands a common sacrifice"

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It's agony like she's never experienced before. The pain ripped up the length of her reclined body in waves; it felt like her spin was being torn from her sin, that she was splitting in half. No experience in her life could have prepared her for this.

As the daughter of the Dayan, she'd been watched since birth by an army of meticulous caretakers. Her nurses, nannies, babysitters and personal guards had all been assigned to her during her mother's pregnancy, before she was even born. When she'd finally clawed her way into the world, she'd fallen into the waiting arms of a wet nurse who already loved her. The young woman named Cheren had been the first person to hold her, and she'd been the one who carried her away as the midwife tried fruitlessly to save the woman who'd given birth to her.

Growing up without a mother hadn't been that hard at all. Sarantsatsral had been anything but neglected. Her father, though busy leading the tribes, made it clear that she was the apple of his eye. Cheren, along with Bayarma her nanny, Oyun and Odva the twin servant girls and Narantseg the old midwife, the little princess never had to spend a moment alone.

As she had grown, Sarantsatsral charmed everyone who was assigned to her. The women doted on her, the bodyguards, all high-ranking soldiers from her fathers ranks, would die for her without a thought. Batu, the most senior, was a second father, and Chinua, Jirghan and Daritai were her beloved older brothers. Under the care of them, and the many others in her father's employ made sure that not a hair on her precious head was ever harmed.

But there was one thing that even their obsessive protection couldn't prevent. The Rouran were Nomadic peoples, and they practically lived on their horses, and Sarantsatsral had been riding her pony Bo since she could walk. She'd loved the little animal fiercely, and most of her fondest memories had taken place roaming the grasslands on his sturdy back. One day, his little hoof had slipped into a hidden rabbit hole, and she'd been sent flying off. Her wrist broke on landing.

Unaccustomed to pain more intense than a stubbed toe, her eight year-old self had thought that she must be dying. Cradled in Batu's arms, she had screamed bloody murder all the way back to camp. She'd spent a week in bed, moaning and crying. When she'd finally calmed down, and stumbled from her tent, she'd looked around blearily for little Bo, who was normally tethered close by. Bayarma had gently informed her that her Father had ordered the pony to be killed days ago, for causing her harm.

It had broken her young heart, of course, and even the gift of a magnificent palomino foal could not distract from her grief. She'd vowed never to ride again, to spite her father. She had, of course, but the death of her beloved companion had taught her a valuable lesson about being the daughter of the Dayan. A lesson that was reinforced again and again over the years. With the brutal beating of poor Batu after she'd wondered off under his supervision and gotten lost for hours, when one of her servants was whipped to death when the poor girl served her food that had given her food-poisoning, the murder of her pet wolf-cub when he'd nipped her hand and drawn blood while playing.

Each time, she'd been inconsolable. She'd shrieked and spat and scratched at anyone who came near her. Her unlucky caretakers still bore scars from her flailing nails because they'd tried to hold her. To their horror, it was to Wude she had run for comfort. To the dirty, scrawny little slave boy who the Dayan had taken pity on. The foreign boy who never spoke, and always watched them with his haunted too large eyes, he was who their princess chose to spend time with when she was upset. It was simply scandalous, and she'd known it.

It had been a pathetic form of revenge that she'd been able to throw at her father that first time after Bo's death. Wude had just arrived; he was fifteen, and a slave. But after that first day that she'd gone to him, he'd become her favored companion. All of her other playmates had been specifically selected from among her father's warlords' families. They were all pale faced, pampered girls just like her. They had been brought to the camp and raised for the sole purpose of being her friends.

Wude was her choice. And he was perfectly meek and well behaved, so he'd never do anything to make her father mad. So although she eventually grew out of the screaming and the tantrums, every time something slipped through her shield of caretakers, she found comfort in the presence of her favourite slave.

"Wude," She moaned as her body spasmed with the efforts of labor, "where's Wude?"

One of the palace girls at her side laid her hand against her sweat-drenched shoulder. "My lady," She said soothingly, "The only man allowed in the birthing chamber is your husband, he's right here, would you like to see him?"

Indeed she could see Prince Hong hovering behind the other woman. His handsome face was twisted anxiously, but his eyes were alight with excitement as well. She gritted her teeth as another wave of pain wracked her form. The birthing staff had coached her on an 'appropriate royal birth' days ago. She mustn't scream, they'd emphasized, it was most unbecoming. So she bit at the inside of her cheeks savagely and gripped the silk sheets under her. This pain, this excruciating pain, he'd done this to her.

Having his child was necessary. As a prince, it was demanded that he have an heir. If she did not provide him with one, he'd be expected to discard her and take another wife who would. The mother of his firstborn would be the most important wife, and she would be just a barren, powerless woman. So she would give him a child.

But this would be the one and only, she vowed as she fought back her screams. This unimaginable agony of having his baby was in no way even remotely worth the momentary pleasure that had come from creating it. And this was normal? The midwives kept telling her it was, as if that would reassure her. Normal? If this was normal, than why would anyone ever have a baby, let alone multiple babies? To think of going through this again, once twice, ten times like some families, she couldn't imagine.

So no, she did not want to see the man who'd done this to her, because she could read the blatant excitement on him face. To him, this was a joyful occasion because he didn't have to feel this agony. He hadn't had to put up with eight and a half months of ridiculous preparations, based on out of date superstitions. He hadn't had to stay shut up in her chambers, reading only poetry and hearing only the silence of her own thoughts which, by the way, she was supposed to 'guard' lest any of her negative energy pass onto the unborn child and corrupt his soul. No, while she was shut inside going mad with boredom, he was running around the forest hunting, riding and training with the other noblemen, she smiled a bitter, teeth baring smile.

"No, get me Wude!" she demanded, "let him in here now!"

"B-but my lady, it is against protocol!"

"I don't care about your protocol, bring him in NOW!"

The poor woman turned helplessly to the Prince, and so did she. She glared at him darkly, informing him with her eyes of her displeasure. He nodded once. "Let him in."

"But Your Highness!" the servant gasped, scandalized.

"Go."

A moment later, she felt Wude's familiar presence at her side. He didn't speak (as usual) and he didn't touch her. He didn't even look at her. He didn't want to be here, she knew, because it was 'against protocol'. He always adhered to the rules, no matter how ridiculous. But his face was drawn and pale as snow-he was terrified for her, and not one bit excited. She grabbed his thin wrist and dug her nails into his already scarred skin. He let out a satisfying gasp of pain. But his presence had its intended purpose, as his horrified eyes met hers, she felt calmed.

She dimly registered Prince Hong looking away. She felt a bit guilty until the worst flash of pain yet gripped her – and didn't let go. Her back arched and she clawed at Wude's arm savagely. "This is it My Lady!" the head midwife cried, "you must push!"

Push? She looked around wildly, panicking. She had absolutely no control over her body, how did they expect her to push? But apparently her body knew what it was doing, because at the peak of the pain, her insides constricted and after hours of hell, she felt the baby slide out of her body into the waiting arms of the royal midwife. Feeble, yet unmistakable cries filled the room. Her grip on the arm beside her slipped and her fingers slid down to weakly cling to his hand.

Around her, the servants had jumped into action with the post-birth precautions. The hours just after birth were the most dangerous, when infection could easily enter the vulnerable body and steal your life away. It wouldn't happen to her, she knew it wouldn't, but she allowed them to clean her carefully, force retched medicine down her throat, and in other ways prod and fondle her, the thoughts of the mother she'd never known fresh in her mind.

The child was still crying, the sound making her head hurt. The servants were gathered, cooing around it so that she couldn't see. She shakily lifted her aching head to try to see, but it was no use. "A boy." She jumped at Prince Hong's voice. She looked at him. His dark eyes were abnormally shiny, and full of pure happiness. She'd expected him to be over with the others, forgetting her in the birth of his son, but instead he was standing over her, his hand lightly resting on her arm.

"Guo Zhi." She said to him, even managing to smile.

"May the kingdom heal," He whispered approvingly, smiling as well, "it's perfect."

She rested her head back down and stared at the ceiling. "You should go see him." She said quietly, holding the hand beside her. He squeezed her arm and did just that. She watched him go tiredly. The hand in her hand was warm and soft and still. "I'm tired." She sighed.

Wude didn't reply, and he didn't touch her, but he didn't pull away either. She idly traced the raised scars on his arms, feeling the stickiness of blood that she drawn- it was under her nails as well. "I'm sorry Wude," she murmured heavily, "you should go look after these."

She felt the muscles in his arm tense. "No," he said simply, instead staying by her side as the crowd of servants, midwives and her husband disappeared with her newborn son. "I will stay."

Her eyes slid closed, and her smile off her face. "I know." She whispered in the almost-empty room. "You always do."


	7. Grief

Happy Holidays everyone! I so NEED this break. Anyway, as always the italic is flashback and bold is actual lines from the movie.

"The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief - but the pain of grief is only a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love."

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Wentai learned about Hua Hu's death four months after his son was born.

Guo had started smiling regularly the month before, and had his father completely and utterly enthralled with his chubby-cheeked joy. So absorbed was he in the miracle that was his child that he hadn't even thought of Hua Mulan in weeks.

But then he had caught the name as he passed a group of his father's generals lounging about and drinking wine. It was stopped him on his way to the nursery, his favourite place to be recently, and made him backtrack to investigate.

"Did you say Hua Hu?" He asked, stepping lightly into the room, inclining his head respectfully to each of the older men.

"Yes Your Highness, I did." Said General Feng, the man who'd been speaking as he'd passed by, "We were remembering him fondly; Bo Qin here served with him in the ninth, did you know?"

"I did not."

"Yes," The grizzled, retired officer wheezed sadly, "it hurt my old heart to hear of his passing."

"Passing? Hua Hu is dead?"

"Yes My Lord Prince, word arrived from the east just last night. It was almost a year ago that it happened."

"I see. That is saddening news." Saddening indeed, his mind reeled from it. The kind old man's wrinkled face swam before his eyes. He'd been a good man, he remembered, darting around the main room of his small house, fetching tea and regaling him with tales of his daughter's childhood while they waited for her to come in from the fields. He'd been proud, so proud of his child's achievements, but so sad at the same time.

The youngest of the officers, only a few years older than him, was looking at him with a strange expression. Wentai checked himself, wondering if he'd let his thoughts show on his face. "Would you care to join us My Lord?" The man, Shou was his name, held up a bottle of wine. Wentai was about to decline, but hesitated.

"Yes, I think I will." He decided, stepping forward and taking the cushion to Shou's left. A glass was poured for him and he accepted it with a grateful nod. "So, you say you served with General Hua?" oh how it still hurt to say the name, "then I am sure you have stories to honour his memory with."

The old man grinned a gap-toothed grin that was more gum than tooth really. "Yes sir, yes I do! Stories and stories and stories, he was a good man he was." He nodded to himself, his eyes blurring with tears, "A true friend 'e was, the kind'o man you wanted to have watchin' yer back. We was called up at the same time, we was the same age, see. I had met 'im before, travelin' through his village. We looked out for each other, like brothers." The old man was lost in nostalgia, his eyes shining with good memories of the past. "He had a girl back home, see, and the rest o' us would always goof 'im about her. But we was all jus' jealous really," he took a deep swig of wine, "He talked about 'er alla time, loved her he did, wus gonna marry her when he got back. He did, in the end, but none of us really thought we'd make it outta the war. Not all of us did o' course, Si Wang an' Bei An were killed in the first real battle, an' a bunch o' the others in the next year. Qun Nian an' Hu an' I were the only ones left outa the lot of us who were together in the beginnin', an' now it's only me."

They all listened in intent silence as he spoke. As the oldest of them all, they respected him immensely, even as senile and drunk as he was. They clung to his every slurred word, each of them only half listening, and half thinking of their own experienced in battle.

"We'd always take watch together," He continued, "We hadda system, see? We would sit on opposite sides o' the camp like we was supposed'ta, with tiny lil mirrors we bought in town. We would flash the mirrors in a code to c'municate with ch'other. So it wasn't so borin'. An'…an' in battle, he was always by m'side, right there," He slapped his thigh loudly, startling the rest of them. "Saved my life so many times I lost count. But then I saved his right on back, so we was always even. He was my best friend." He was crying now, tears running down his wrinkled face.

The other men in the room looked away, embarrassed. But Wentai stayed fixated on his face. His hand was trembling, sloshing the wine in his still-full cup, so he tipped it back, draining it in one go. "You still miss him." He stated the obvious.

"Hell yea I still miss 'im!" he yelped "A bond like that don't just go away! Let me tell ya boy, when yer close like that, ya never forget it." The other occupants of the room flinched at the disrespect, waiting for Wentai to be offended, but he ignored them, staring into the old man's eyes.

"You loved him." He whispered, the realization hitting him heavily. "You loved Hua Hu."

Bo Qin froze with his wine half-way to his mouth. A little trickled and dripped onto his pale blue silk robe. General Feng's face screwed up in disgust. The others were a little subtler, but it was easy to see that none of them were impressed with the behaviour they were witnessing.

"He was like my brother-"

"No. You loved him."

The old man's half-blind eyes were wide and vulnerable and full of raw grief. His face was very wet with tears, shriveled, wine stained lips quivering. He spluttered for words drunkenly, before slumping forward on himself hopelessly. "Of course I loved 'im." He moaned into his hands, "Best friend I ever had, my brother. We was together five years, an' I loved 'im. But we fought, had a fight, a bad one. Then 'e went back to 'is village an' married 'is girl like 'e said 'e would an' I stayed in the army 'cause I had nothin' else in the world. I never talked to 'im ever again an' now he's dead." He was sobbing in earnest, barley understandable. "I shoulda gone to find 'im when I had the chance, shoulda settled for jus' bein' able to talk ta him an' see 'im one last time. Now 'e's dead an' I miss 'im still."

Wentai watched in fascination even when the other men turned their faces in shame. His wineglass had been refilled, probably by Shou, and he drained that. Bo Qin slumped over in a dead faint, and one of the officers Wentai didn't know leaned out the door and called for a servant. No one was paying attention to him, and his glass was empty so he just grabbed the bottle himself and drank deeply.

Bo Qin had been dragged out, and the others were saying hurried goodbyes, the cheerful atmosphere of the gathering ruined. Wentai followed them out into the hall in a daze, and acknowledged their parting words and apologies dully. He stood as they went their sepearte ways and he was left all alone. Then he found himself walking the path that he'd been on before he'd been diverted.

Through the labyrinth of marble halls, passed the lush courtyards and into the brightly lit royal pavilion. Guo's wet nurse, a girl of just sixteen, sat on a couch in the corner of the room, feeding her own baby. She leapt to her feet and bowed low when he entered the nursery. His son was sleeping peacefully in his gilded crib. He leaned over the tiny boy and traced his incredibly soft, round face. Swaddled tightly in silk, his chubby, dimpled limbs were hidden from his view.

He picked the infant up gently, as not to wake him. He cradled the tiny, warm bundle against his chest tenderly. As he watched the baby snuffled and sucked in his perfect, full lip. He felt like his heart would burst with love. The confused clenching of his heart that the events with the generals had initiated was quelled by the weight of his precious son.

But the aching sadness still remained. Having a child had changed his life. He had so much to live for in this little boy, with his sunshine smiles, and musical coos. And beyond that, he had come to realize how much the rest of his family meant to him. His distant but fair father, his graceful and wise mother, his twenty eight siblings, and many nieces and nephews and cousins, all with their own unique personalities. And his wife, beautiful and selfless but cold. War and parenthood had mad him value the stability of his life.

But looking into the face of his child, he couldn't help but think of another woman who very nearly could have been the mother. His heart had always ached with missing her, and now it hurt for the loneliness he knew she must be feeling. The father she had loved so much was gone; the only family member she had left had died.

He supposed that it was presumptuous to presume that Mulan hadn't met a man in the time they'd been apart, but he just can't see it. She would have stayed home with her father until the very end, he knew, allowing herself no distractions.

He shouldn't feel guilty for everything he had, but he couldn't help but think of her alone in that empty house. He hugged Guo to him tightly and pressed his face into the soft fold of his blanket, inhaling the warm baby smell. _"A bond like that don't just go away! Let me tell ya boy, when yer close like that, ya never forget it."_ The retired general had hit a nerve; his words had struck straight and true like the most skilled bowman's shot. 'you don't have to tell me,' her thought as her cuddled his baby boy, "I know, I know, I know." He chanted aloud, rocking Guo back and forth. _"I shoulda gone to find 'im when I had the chance, shoulda settled for jus' bein' able to talk ta him an' see 'im one last time."_

He was torn. It might have partially been the wine speaking, but he itched to jump on Fire Dancer and ride straight to Mulan's village to recount those words to her. He didn't want her to have to be alone, he wanted to share everything he had with her. He wanted her to meet the little miracle in his arms, wanted to see her holding his son (even if the image did make him hurt.) He wanted to convince her to take that job that his father had offered, now that she (presumably) had nothing left in her village to stay for.

But, _**"Forget about me."**_He had said. He had held her in his arms for the last time, and then turned away and left her there. He hadn't once looked back, but he knew she'd watched him go from the feel of her eyes on his back. _**"I understand." **_He'd assured her, oh so casually, as if she hadn't torn his heart out and shredded it beyond repair.

"_**You are the one I'll never forget." **Her hands held his where they were, on either side of her helmeted head. _

_The silence in the tent rang in his ears as they sat there. It was almost peaceful; the calm before the storm. "The only one?" he asked lightly, attempting to soften the tense atmosphere, "I know you won't forget the others, you still talk to Scholar and the others each night." _

_He heard her huff in frustration and he smiled, dropping his hand to rest on her shoulders. "Don't worry, I won't forget you either," he said, squeezing her arms, "Nor Scholar, or Fatso or Tiger, Turtle or any of the others. We'll remember them all no matter what."_

"_And tell their stories." She whispered, "We have to tell their stories." _

"_Of course."_

"_I mean it Wentai." Her arms were tense from gripping the fabric of her pants in white-knuckled fists, "And if I'm killed, you have to promise to tell mine." _

"_You know I would, but Mulan you can't think like that." _

"_Why not?" She demanded harshly, "I know our chances Wentai, I know that there's little hope of coming out of this battle alive. An hour from now we'll probably all be dead and then nobody will be able to tell our stories." _

"_Mulan…"_

"_It terrifies me," She hissed, visibly shaking, "not the thought of dying, I've been prepared for that for years. I…I am just so scared of being forgotten. My father will think of me, I know, but I have nobody else in the world to preserve my memory." He wished he could see her face, but he felt paralyzed in place. _

"_The people will speak of you, you are the famous General Hua, you will have songs written in your name, sung years after you are gone."_

"_Songs about killing and bloodshed and war? Songs about a man, about a demon on the battlefield? That isn't who I am. My father knows who I really am, but that's all, and he is old. I will leave nothing behind as Mulan, my father's daughter will be forgotten." _

_She got to her feet then, slowly and laboriously due to her wounds and weeks of dehydration. He stayed where he was however, leaning back on his heels and watching her. "Just…I won't forget you." She said, not looking him in the eye, "No matter what happens, even if I die, I don't think I'll ever be able to." _

_She spun on her heel then, almost tripping, and hurried out of the tattered tent. He crouched, still in the shadowy tent. He weighed his options for what seemed like the thousandth time. He could let her fight, leading what remained of her troops into a hopeless battle to be slaughtered like livestock. It had been what he'd planned to do for even though they would all die, they'd die together, uncorrupted and true to what they'd always believed in. There would be no doubt in any of their minds, no hesitation in dying for China. _

_But her words had torn into him and made him review his priorities. Was he being selfish? By letting her go, he was also keeping her his, keeping up the world they'd lived in together for the past decade. It was a world of bloodshed and war, but it was a world where he wasn't a prince with responsibilities. It was a world where he was just Wentai, her beloved Wentai. They would live their last moments together, secure in their feelings, sure of themselves. _

_And yet he had the ability to stop all of this. He'd thought it through; it would be oh so simple. But selfishly, he'd shied from the consequences he knew would come. He didn't think he could bare the inevitable look in her eyes, and the eyes of the others when they found out his true identity. They'd see him differently and treat him differently. He'd lied to them, to her for twelve whole years, every day and with every breath. Mulan had thought she'd known him better than anyone, when in reality, not a single one of them had even known him name. How could they do anything but treat him differently?_

_He listened tranquilly to her voice soaring through the valley, savoring the cheers of the men below, and the buzz of their energy as they prepared to die. _

_He pushed aside the ripped fabric sluggishly, and blinked into the sunlight that had finally managed to burn through the dull gray clouds. He could see Mulan's slight figure standing with her men, her men who knew her, who she knew from years of battle. All of a sudden it was unbearable-the knowledge that she didn't know who he was. All of his lies, that had seemed so unimportant just minutes ago, seemed to fill him up, physically straining his body with the need to be let out. He strode towards the group and paused to watch her sway and collapse in front of her horse. Mulan turned to him, her eyes tender in a way they'd never been before and mouth opening to say something. He ignored her coldly, pretended not to see her there. Despite years of disuse, he slid naturally into the rod-straight nobleman's walk, head held high to fix on the Rouran leader's mounted form. As he passed, the troops parted in front of him, gaping at the sudden change in his demeanor. And then he was in the open, vulnerable to the mass of enemy soldiers just a hundred feet away. _

_He felt no fear, why should he? He reached and gripped the smooth jade pendent, pulling it from its hiding place of over twelve year. His voice was clear as he addressed the rugged men on horseback. "**Get your Dayan to come forward and talk!"** _

Before the words finished echoing off the valley's stone sides, a group of horses separated itself from the group and approached him, the Rouran horns blaring to announce a cease-fire. Wentai raised the pale green disk to the sky and spoke loudly and clearly, **"I am the seventh son of the Wei Emperor, Tuo Ba Hong!"**

The pendent was snatched roughly from his hand by one of the horsemen, who then handed it to the crowned Dayan. The air was still, and not a single man stirred as they watched the exchange. To make doubly sure of his goals, Wentai slid out his dagger and held it to his throat, **"Leave you best medics and supplies." **He ordered, staring into the Rouran's eyes, **"and I will come with you. But you must let my brothers go."**

"**A live prince in exchange for a mere several thousand soldiers?" **The Dayan uttered with a poorly concealed grin, **"Deal!" **

As the Dayan's guards trotted forward to surround him, Wentai twisted, searching for Mulan in the crowd, for one last look. But the dust from the horses rose in a thick cloud, making one helmeted soldier indistinguishable from the rest. He was grasped not gently under the arms and heaved onto the sweaty back of one of the guard's horses. They pried the knife from his shaking hands as a crier bellowed, **"Retreat! The Dayan orders a retreat!" **

It was probably for the best he mused as the horse under him lurched into motion and the company galloped out of the valley. He hadn't had to see the shock and betrayal on her face after all.

A drop of moisture had appeared on his baby son's face, and Wentai realized that he was crying. Crying with great, raking sobs rattling from deep inside him. He must be even drunker than he'd thought. He took a moment to study himself before laying Guo down in his crib. As he exited the nursery, the wetnurse bent her head awkwardly. He flushed, and hurried into the dark hallway. The royal wing was quiet and empty, all members having retired for the night. The door to his wife's chamber beside Guo's was closed and no light escaped under it. He ran his hand over the face roughly, rubbing the old scar that ran diagonally down his cheek.

"**You are the one I will never forget."**

"**Forget about me."**


	8. Stolen

Bold words are lyrics to the song "Parental Home" by Vitas. Again, Vitas is the Russian operan singer who played Wude in the movie, and SO MANY of his songs tie in so nicely to this story. So I use them. As always, italic is flashback.

"Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you."

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"**Thousands of ways have been left behind.**

**How long I searched for love and lost it**

**Through snows and rains."**

The toddler giggled into his plump hand at the funny roll of his caretaker's voice as the foreign lyrics were whispered into his ear. His other fist held fast to a handful of long brown hair, so much lighter and softer than his own.

Wude hefted Guo up more securely on his hip as he picked his way through the lush bushes of the palace's private gardens.

"**The days and years are as if in dreams...**

**It is twice harder to realize**

**That you are not like others,**

**But I sang and continue singing about love."**

It was early morning, the sun had yet to rise so Wude walked the winding pathways carefully, eyes scanning the ground in front of him lest he trip with the little prince in his arms. The stagnant air was cool, and their combined breath materialized in white clouds that Guo delighted in, leaning back precariously and testing Wude's limited strength to blow puff straight up. The slight man grunted quietly and tucked his thick robe around the boy, trapping his little body safely to his chest. Bending his head he crooned the song- a relic from his own boyhood- against the sleek black hair.

"**There exists your parental home,**

**Where everything is familiar to you**

**And where you are always loved and waited for."**

Guo squirmed in protest, craning his head to glare accusingly at his babysitter. His small slippered feet kicked rhythmically against Wude's thigh. It was just barely dawn, yet the three year old was already humming with energy. He'd been bouncing around his nursery for hours, driving his nanny mad; the poor woman was worn ragged from the previous day's play and needed sleep. Wude had come to the rescue and brought the boy down to the gardens where he couldn't disrupt anyone except for the emperor's peacocks.

"**Bow low to it with love**

**Wherever you are – near or far from it,**

**You are waited for there."**

Planting a kiss on a flushed chubby cheek, Wude relented and set his charge down on the ground. The satin slippers had hardly touched the dirt before their owner dashed ahead, slapping loudly on the planks of the bridge where he eagerly poked his shaggy head through a gap in the stone railings to peer down into the pond below.

The flow of the song was cut off by Guo's angelic voice directed at him, "Wude I wanna see the fishies!"

His mouth curved into a patient smile as he drew level with the child and bent to grasp him under the arms. Being slender to nearly unhealthy proportions, Wude struggled for a moment before he was able to get the plump boy onto the wide stone ledge. Once there, he locked his long arms around the boy's middle. He knew that if any member of the household saw what he was letting the young prince do, he'd get an earful, but no one should be outside for at least another hour so he let him have his fun.

He rested his chin contentedly on top of the small head in front of him and watched the Emperor's prized fish drift in lazy circles in the dark water.

"**I went away to the world's end…**

**Call me back home."**

Wude resumed the song, slightly muffled with his lips pressed to the boy-prince's hair. Below them, the bright scales gleamed dully from black water as the fish swirled in and out of view between patches of half-opened lilies. He could feel the small shifts of Guo's body as he followed their path with wide, curious eyes.

Wude's eyes blurred out of focus as he sang, the words streaming from him taking him back, back in time, into his dim memories of his homeland.

"**While being in the foreign lands,****  
><strong>**I understood how holy the mother is,****  
><strong>**I understood that the place where I was born and grew up****  
><strong>**Is the place where I can find answers to all main life questions,****  
><strong>**But earlier I didn't take all this seriously before."**

His mother had sung this song to him, and to his brothers and sisters more times than he could count. He could still hear her voice in his heart, perfectly preserved though he could no longer see her face in his mind. She was the one who encouraged him to sing, on her knee in front of the fire. Her voice and her hands as well, deeply lined and swollen knuckled from years spinning wool, he remembered them clearly. They had touched his face, patted his cheeks, straightened his hood and tied his fur-lined boots securely before she'd pushed him gently out the door of their home and into the cold air.

_He stumbles over the threshold and almost falls. From inside, his sisters laugh meanly at his clumsiness, causing the blood to rush to his face in shame. They tease him mercilessly, his horrible sisters, because he is uncoordinated and chubby. Their mother shushes them sternly, and waves him on. Turning away to hide the blush, he hurries through his mother's bare garden to the goat pen where his father stands waiting._

_They greet him with jokes and grins; his father, uncle and older cousin Jakhon welcome him into their band of men, for today, that is what he become. The morning of his thirteenth birthday, Wude is officially shedding the constraints of his boyhood, and stepping onto the frozen tundra a man. _

_Cousin Jakhon has already been a man for three years, and has been going out into the hills nearly every day since his own thirteenth year. The tall young man grins crookedly down at him as he mounts his shaggy horse with ease. Wude watches enviously as his cousin perches comfortably on the animal's back. He possesses a natural grace that Wude doubts he'll ever possess. He looks down despairingly once again at his stubby legs and the swell of his paunchy middle, visible even through his thick furs. He'd tried once before, to lose the access weight. For a week he'd managed to hide half of each meal in the folds of his clothing, feeding it to the hounds when he was alone. But his mother had noticed and put an end to it. "You have my family's body." She'd admonished after the light beating, "A good, sturdy body, you'll never feel cold like those scrawny things on your father's side, and you'll be stronger than them too."_

_Too bad all of his 'sturdiness' seemed limited to fat and not muscle. He pulls himself jerkily onto his antsy pony. Cousin Jakhon didn't look cold, trotting his horse with one hand, and waving at him with the other. With his lean muscles, dark braided hair and stubbly goatee, the girls in the village adored him, and his father was flooded with requests from other families to wed his to their daughters. _

_His mount reluctantly obeys his fumbled prodding and plods along after the other men. Their homestead, containing his mother, grandmother, aunt, and younger cousins and siblings grows smaller and smaller before disappearing behind a snow-covered rise. Wude focus rides in silence as the others chat between themselves. Talk of the animals, of the weather and the price of winter hides is exchanged. Jakhon looks bored. Wude suspects he wishes that Wude's older brother, Avi was here. But Avi was in the neighbouring village now, visiting his wife's family with their newborn baby and now he had to settle for Wude, his second favourite cousin. _

_Around them, the tundra appears so very empty. But every once in a while Wude spots flickers of the hidden life that he knows is there. The fluffy white tail of a fox waves among a pile of boulders, marmots watch them pass with beady black eyes. Above their heads a steppe eagle plays in the wind, causing the fat rodents to vanish into their borrows. _

_It's over three hours of riding over the frozen earth before they find the herd. His uncle yells when he spots them, a great black blur on the horizon, almost obscured by a ridge they had nearly rode past without seeing them. They probably had passed them by at least once, maybe many times in the time it's taken to find them. _

_As they draw close, His uncle and cousin split off to walk a perimeter of the animals, riding in a wide circle to draw the stragglers into the main group. His father turns on his horse and motions him closer, "Now listen here my son," he says, laying a gloved hand on Wude's shoulder, "this is your first day out here, so you won't be doing any of the hard work. I'm going to go with your uncle and do a headcount. You stay put here and make sure none of those guys wander up here alright?"_

_Wude nods, mouth suddenly dry at the prospect of being left all alone up on the ridge. But his father smiles proudly at him and squeezes his arm before letting go. "That's my boy." He says cheerfully and urges his horse down the slope. "Remember to watch for wolves!" He shouts back over his shoulder as they descend. _

_The words send a shiver of terror up Wude's spine as his father disappears into the mass of the herd, immediately getting lost amongst the hairy numbers. Completely alone, he cannot see any of the other men now, and only wheeling eagles keeps him company. He wraps his arms around himself against the chill and leans over the pony's back in an attempt to keep his body heat from being torn away in the wind. _

_He sits there for ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, and all is calm. The herd mills and groans as one, their collective stink trickling to him every time the breeze turns his way. As a gray bank of clouds obscures the dim winter sun, one of the yaks breaks free and waddles away from the group. _

_Anxiously, Wude pulls at the reigns and, after a minute of struggling, the pony skids down the hill and follows the wayward beast._

_Yaks are slow, dumb creatures, but apparently they could move fast when they wanted. Wude digs his heels into the pony's sides impatiently, but the stubborn thing ambles on, just barely keeping up with the runaway. He hisses a word under his breath that would have prompted his mother to slap him, he'd be faster on foot. He pulls to a halt, sliding off the pony to the ground._

_He hesitates before dropping the reigns to the ground. The pony, trained not to wander, is content to dip his head and graze. Meanwhile, the escaped yak has nearly reached the far ridge, so he hurries into a run after it. _

_Halfway across Wude is already out of breath. By the time he crests the hill, he is gasping raggedly, and has to pause momentarily before continuing down the other side. The going was easier with the aid of gravity, and he is soon close to his quarry. Pulling up beside the lumbering animal, he reached out nervously and grabbed hold of one of the animals great curving horns like his father had told him to. Tugging to the side, he hopes the beast would cooperate without much prompting and come back with him._

_No such luck, the thing doesn't even appear to notice him and instead keeps walking its original course unfazed, dragging Wude along. He pulls harder, trying to be forceful like he'd been taught, but the horn, blunted though they were, makes him wary. But the stubborn yak simply shakes its head in annoyance and pushes on. _

_Wude jogs at the animal's side, panic rising in his throat. What could he do? His father would be so disappointed if he lost the animal, but it just wasn't responding! Not paying attention to the ground, Wude stumbles over his own feet and falls to the ground, chin jarring painfully against the ice-hardened dirt. All the breath whooshes out of his lungs, leaving him winded and on the verge of tears. Oh how his sisters would cackle with glee if they could see him now. _

_He lifts his head and feels blood trickle warmly down his neck from his battered shin. The yak trudges on away from where he'd fallen, slowly but surly leaving him behind. A strangled sob escapes his trembling lip before he can stop it. He stares at the ground, gritting his teeth in frustration as the animal disappears over yet another hill. _

_Crouched over, Wude stews in his own misery. His first day tending the herd and he's already messed up bad. He'd lost one of the family's precious bulls, something irreplaceable. The stupid thing would undoubtedly wander the tundra for days before falling prey to one of the many wolf packs that roamed the region. That was valuable wool, meat and future calves that was walking to its death._

_He can picture the reactions of his family members clearly in his mind. The disappointed sag of his father's face and body as he realizes that his second son continues to be a failure. The rage in his fiery uncle's eyes as he learns that his good for nothing nephew has lost one of the cattle that he's raised since birth. The say Jakhon will turn away in embarrassment, unwilling to look into his eyes. His mother will beat him while his bratty sisters twitter 'I told you so's behind their hands. _

_A soft thudding of hoof beats interrupts his misery, and Wude lifts his head in hopes that the beast has decided to return after all. He swipes his arm over his face quickly, clearing away the blood, tears and mucus that has wet his face, leaving a dark smear along the arm of his parka that his mother would have smacked him for if she saw. _

_And then from over the hill that the bull had disappeared comes a great, black horse, bigger than any Wude has ever seen. The animals that his family rides around the farm are shaggy little things, barley more than ponies. This creature is a true mustang, with great, sweat-dark flanks gliding over rippling muscles. It's barrel-like chest heaves with each long step as it thunders down on him, carrying a rider who was equally as terrifying. Swathed in what looked like great lengths of untreated wolf hide, a chain of animal bones hangs around the man's neck, clattering loudly with the steed's motion. Set deep within a weather-beaten face, his eyes fix blackly on Wude. _

_All he can do is sit there and gape at the terrible sight. Living isolated on the family farm, Wude has had limited contact with strangers in his thirteen years. He has only made a handful of trips into the closest town, down in the valley and never has he encountered anyone like this man. His features are exotic in a slanted, angular way that reminds him of the traders from the southern lands. This man's skin is paler however, more like his own fair complexion than those traders' dark gold. _

_And then the horse's massive hooves are stomping down terrifyingly close to his head and still all he can do it stare in disbelief. The rider barks a harsh laugh and says something to him in a choppy, unfamiliar language. Wude responds with more uncomprehending blankness. _

_The hooves beside him are nearly as big as his head and he knows that he really should start running and shouting for his father, but his mouth feels frozen half open. As the stranger's massive boots hit the ground in front of him, he finally breaks free of fear's hold and tries to flee. In seconds the giant has a hold on the back of his jacket and is pulling him back to fall against his tree-like body. _

_More thundering hooves join them, two sets, three, until there are four new strangers, each as terrifying on their gigantic mounts as the one who holds him. They exchange laughing words in their strange language, five pairs of eyes leering down at him. Though he cannot comprehend the spoken exchange, the looks of malicious greed portray their intentions clearly and Wude feels his bladder release, soiling his trousers. The foreigners notice and point at the growing stain between his legs, guffawing even louder. _

_The one who holds them shushes them eventually, and addresses the entire group, appearing to give them orders. Then he wraps his arms around Wude and lifts, sending the world tilting and throws him over his horse's saddle. The landing knows the wind out of him, cutting off the half-formed scream that was rising in his throat. Then the man swings up behind him and clamps a heavy hand securely on his back, pining him in place. With a shout, the horse rears back, spins, and jumps forward into an all out gallop._

_Wude watches the ground blur by far below him as blood slowly leaks to his head. His pants are sticking to his thighs now, the urine cold and cloying. They pause briefly beside the form of the escaped yak bull, slaughtered on the ground. Two more strangers are on their knees beside it, making quick work of butchering the carcass. They load some meat onto a packhorse and then mount up, leaving most of the huge body untouched for the birds to pick at. They resume the ground-eating gallop and only then, far too late does he finally scream._

_They ride through the mountains for most of the day. Wude passes out several times, and each time he wakes the sun has sunk closer to the horizon. As night falls they meet a large caravan of horses. Wude is dragged stiff and aching from the horse and paraded in front of more foreigners. He's pretty certain now of what is happening, but his mind won't seem to accept it. His body is sluggish to respond as the strangers poke and prod him, making an occasional comment in their language. _

_In the end, Wude is shoved roughly along and toward a group of people sitting on the hard ground. As they approach, the men with him yell orders at the group and they silently rise to their feet. They are obviously prisoners like him, dressed in dirty clothes in various stages of disrepair and with thin, hungry faces full of blank, dead eyes. He is pushed into their midst, stumbles and falls into a few of them. He stammers apologies but his new fellows stare at him blankly before looking away. _

_He scans the crowd for a familiar face, somebody who looks like they'd speak his language. There are a few who look promising, with the brown hair and angular features of his people, but they all ignore his attempts at communication. Most look similar to their captors, with slanting eyes and ink coloured hair. He glimpses one trembling woman who has pale gold hair and eyes as blue as the sky. He can't help but stare at the unusual sight and wonder what part of the world she was snatched from. _

_He's one of the youngest. From what he can tell most of the others are middle aged with a few slightly older thrown in. There is one boy who looks pretty close to his age, but it's hard to be certain because he is one of the foreigners, like the southern traders. He has rich nut-brown skin that looks painfully dry and cracked, used to much warmer weather. His dark hair is long and loose, but filthy and matted._

_Then they begin to walk. The slavers are all on horseback, riding in a tight ring around their little herd of captives. If one of the group stumbles or legs behind, the closest rider shouts and strikes him with the dull end of a spear. They march through the hills and into the great mountain ranges that Wude has looked at from his home his whole life, but never dreamed of venturing near. They enter the mountains and into a blizzard that claims the life of one of the slaves, they tiny golden haired woman. That enrages the leader of the slavers; such an exotic looking girl must have been very valuable._

_And then, after endless days of marching, they break free of the mountains and Wude loses the last shred of hope of making it home. Nobody from his village had ever gone beyond the mountains in living memory. And then one day he can no longer see the shape of the mountains behind them and he understands why the others had acted so indifferently toward his panicked attempts to talk to them. Pure and utter hopelessness robs his will to do anything but eat, sleep, piss and walk and walk and walk. So when a few of the horsemen split from the group and return the next day with three new prisoners, he avoids eye contact with the terrified new arrivals. Not even when one of them, a girl a bit older than him, grabs hold of his arm and cries at him in a tongue that is so similar to his own that he can decipher a few words. Not even when the slavers acquire a boy who is even younger than he is, who cries all day and trips constantly and refuses to eat until he simply doesn't get up one day. _

_Wude drops all of his access weight, and then more. For the first time in his life he can see his rids through his skin when he lifts his grimy parka. He has finally managed to lose weight and now the thought that he'd so desperately wanted to fills him with disgust. The climate gradually grows warmer than he'd ever felt, and he discards his hole filled coat, the one that had been Avi's before it was his, that his mother had made from the wool of their yaks._

_One day Wude is sold. They have stopped in a camp that appears to belong to a nomadic tribe of some sort, who dress in flowing robes and who ride huge, humpbacked animals with grotesquely long thin legs. Wude, along with two others, is handed over to their new owner in exchange for an astonishingly small sack of gold. _

_He lives with that band for a few months before being traded to another for one measly goat. He lives with this one a total of nine days before switching hands again. This time it lasts for nearly two years because at this point he catches the eye of the warrior lord who led the band. He supposes that in the end it was a good thing, as it came with a bed to sleep in and much better food than the other slaves, but at the time he doesn't see the positive side. The nights spent in that tent are a hell that he had never imagined could exist. _

_Eventually the memories of his warm, cozy home cease to sustain him and begin to fade. His world is reduced to the inside of his warlord's tent and now the only time he sings is when he screams. And never does he scream louder than the morning he awakes, aching all over, and realizes that he can no longer remember his mother's face._

There's a slight creak of the wood paneling and that was the only warning Wude received before something smashed into the back of his head with the force of a person's full strength behind it. He dimly registered falling and with him a tiny body fell too, away from him. A high voice rose in a shriek before the sound of something hitting water cut it off and Wude collapsed heavily to the ground. Guo is no longer in his arms and it takes him a second to connect that fact to the sounds that he just heard. Choking, he struggled to roll over and push himself up. Blurry figures of masked men swam in front of him, and before he could open his mouth to cry out, one of them lifted a leg and swung it, kicking him in the side of the head and effectively stealing the last shards of his consciousness.

"_**There exists your parental home,**__**  
><strong>__**Where everything is familiar to you**__**  
><strong>__**And where you are always loved and waited.**__**  
><strong>__**Bow low to it with love**__**  
><strong>__**Wherever you are - near or far from it,**__**  
><strong>__**You are waited there."**_

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Wow that was a long flashback. I really like writing Wude's back story. LMK what you think!


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